Tsitoura visits her old workplace, where she was a secretary at Hellenic Shipyards. As Greece's economy continues to buckle under the weight of massive government debt, some Greeks are relying on their ties to family and friends to put food on the table and provide other basic necessities.

Aivatzidis at his desk at Hellenic Shipyards, where he was a human resources manager. For Aivatzidis and Tsitoura, providing for their children is a communal effort. They receive help from both their parents, in particular the pension of Nikos' father, sharing meals and other expenses, and occasionally from friends who are faring better.

The Hellenic Shipyards now remains empty of ships and workers. Two years ago, the shipyard stopped paying its approximately 1,100 employees. Greece's economy continues to buckle under the weight of massive government debt, with record unemployment. Some estimates put the jobless rate at 28 percent and nearly 60 percent for workers under the age of 25.

Tsitoura's mother Maria, visiting from her home in Kalamata, helps Dimitris with homework. "From an early age, the parents are saying, 'Study, study!' " Tsitoura said. "We want them [our children] to be somebody, but there are so few opportunities."

Alexandra Tsitoura (left) and Nikos Aivatzidis walk through now-empty Hellenic Shipyards in Athens, Greece. Two years ago, the shipyard employed around 1,100 workers. Alexandra and her husband Nikos have had jobs at Hellenic Shipyards for 10 and 31 years, respectively, but have not received neither a paycheck nor any form of severance for the past two years.

Alexandra Tsitoura and Nikos Aivatzidis with their three children, Marios, 2, (left), Fani, 9, and Dimitris, 6, in their home in Athens.

Holly Pickett for NPR

For nearly 30 years, Nikos Aivatzidis got up at the crack of dawn to drive from his home in central Athens to his human resources job at Hellenic Shipyards, near Greece's port of Piraeus.

"I'd walk into the entrance and marvel as I watched [6,000] or 7,000 people heading into work with me," he says. "This place was like its own city."

Now this place is deserted. Many of the roughly 1,000 workers still officially on the payroll stopped showing up after the company stopped paying them in April 2012.

But Aivatzidis holds on.

On a recent morning, the 51-year-old father of three and his 38-year-old wife, Alexandra Tsitoura, pull up their 9-year-old Fiat outside an empty office building.

Tsitoura also works at Hellenic Shipyards. Together, she and her husband used to make around $3,000 a month.

As they get out of the car, they're greeted by a pack of stray dogs, looking for food. "My co-worker used to feed them," Aivatzidis says. "But she stopped coming to work."

Aivatzidis keeps coming in hopes that he and his wife will eventually get paid. And he has another reason for showing up at the shipyard at least twice week.

"I can't quit this job because I will lose my severance pay after 30 years of work," he says. "I can't justify that."

About 20 percent of Greek workers are trapped in the same dilemma. Many, like Aivatzidis, hold on because they know finding another job at a time when the unemployment rate is 28 percent is virtually impossible.

Leaning On Family For Help

Unlike other European countries, Greece has never had a strong social safety net, so the poor have traditionally relied on family and friends. Four years into a crushing debt crisis, nearly half of the Greek labor force is either out of work or working without pay.

Like many couples in Greece these days, Aivatzidis and Tsitoura have tapped out their savings since they stopped getting paychecks. They now rely on their parents' pensions to buy groceries and pay bills. They had to stop paying their mortgage.

His cellphone rings constantly, to the tune of "Johnny B" by The Hooters.

"It's the collection agencies," he says, looking at the number on the screen. "I'm not going to answer it. I get agitated because they ask me questions that I can't answer, like when I am going to make a payment on mortgage."

Aivatzidis is relieved that the government has extended a moratorium on foreclosures. His elderly mother, Fani, who lives next door, often shares her big pots of bean soup or pans of roasted vegetables.

And Tsitoura's 75-year-old mother, Maria, chips in by bringing meat, olive oil and fresh eggs on her monthly visits from her home in southern Greece.

Maria, a jovial woman with a bouffant of curly hair, says she is also helping her son Vassilis, who's an accountant. Most of his clients haven't paid him in two years, she says.

"Every month, my husband counts out his pension on the counter," she says. "And each time, he says, 'Look, they cut out 20 euros or 40 euros.' And so every month, we have less to work with."

On a recent evening, the extended family gathers in Athens for a dinner of orzo pasta, tomatoes and bread — no meat. Tsitoura likes making dinner with whatever fresh and cheap produce is in season.

She washes the dishes as her children — daughter Fani and sons Dimitris and Mario — brush their teeth.

"We try not to show the children that we're worried," she says. "We try to give them what they need."

Their one luxury is attending free traditional dance lessons at an association of Black Sea Greeks across town. They just need gas to get there.

Willing To Work

Their troubles started when Hellenic Shipyards could no longer pay its bills. The owner, Abu Dhabi Mar, is in a contractual dispute with the debt-ridden Greek government over what the state should pay for the submarines.

But Manos Matsaganis, a professor at the Athens University of Economics and Business, says the crisis has squeezed many firms in Greece.

"Some of the firms have come to an accommodation with the workers, telling them, 'Look, we don't want to close, we want you to survive, and we don't want you to lose your job,' " Matsaganis says, " 'But on the other hand, we can't pay you. ... We will pay you eventually, hopefully. Would you like to keep working for no money for a while?' "

Back at the shipyard, Aivatzidis and Tsitoura stop by to see co-workers guarding the partially finished submarines that cost Greek taxpayers billions of dollars. All but one of the submarines now languish in dry dock.

Panagiotis Karantzidis, a wiry, intense 44-year-old technician, spent years working on them. "I want to work so badly," he says. "My hands are strong. I am strong. I have at least 10 years of good work left in me."

Aivatzidis comforts him and walks outside to the vast, empty shipyard where he has spent most of his adult life. Aivatzidis considers himself lucky; some of his co-workers are going to soup kitchens or are sitting in dark homes because their electricity has been shut off.

"Maybe I still have hope and I'm patient I'll get paid because we're not yet at that point where poverty has totally taken us under," he says.

He unlocks the door to his abandoned office and walks along a hallway lined with dead plants and a timecard machine that's out of order.

He sits at his desk, which is piled high with binders and file folders. He has to process the paperwork of the few employees who have quit the shipyard — many to take jobs overseas.

Copyright 2014 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Transcript

ARUN RATH, HOST:

It's ALL THINGS CONSIDERED from NPR West. I'm Arun Rath.

Imagine working for two years without a paycheck. Then imagine that your country has little to no safety net, no food stamps or rent subsidies and limited unemployment insurance. Two years after the financial crisis in Greece, this has become the reality for thousands of workers. Joanna Kakissis has the story.

NIKOS AIVATZIDIS: (Foreign language spoken)

JOANNA KAKISSIS, BYLINE: For nearly 30 years, Nikos Aivatzidis got up at the crack of dawn to drive from his home in central Athens to his human resources job at Hellenic Shipyards near the port of Piraeus.

AIVATZIDIS: (Through Translator) I'd walk into the entrance and marvel as I watched six, 7,000 people heading into work with me. This place was like its own city.

KAKISSIS: This place is now deserted. Most of the thousand-plus workers still officially on the payroll stopped showing up after the company stopped paying them in April 2012. But Nikos holds on.

On a recent morning, the 51-year-old father of three and his 38-year-old wife, Alexandra Tsitoura, pull up in their 9-year-old Fiat outside an empty office building. Alexandra also works at Hellenic Shipyards. Together, they used to make about $3,000 a month.

AIVATZIDIS: (Foreign language spoken)

KAKISSIS: As they get out of the car, they're greeted by a pack of stray dogs looking for food. Nikos is hoping that he and Alexandra will eventually get paid. And he has another reason for showing up at the shipyard at least twice a week.

AIVATZIDIS: (Through Translator) I can't quit this job, because I'll lose my severance pay after 30 years of work. I can't justify that.

KAKISSIS: A fifth of Greek workers are trapped in the same dilemma. Many, like Nikos Aivatzidis, hold on because they know finding a new job at a time when the unemployment rate is 28 percent would be virtually impossible.

Like many couples in Greece these days, Nikos and Alexandra have tapped out their savings after they stopped getting paid. They now rely on their parents' pensions to buy groceries and pay bills. They had to stop paying their mortgage.

AIVATZIDIS: (Foreign language spoken)

KAKISSIS: Nikos' cellphone rings constantly.

AIVATZIDIS: (Through Translator) It's the collection agencies. I get agitated because they ask me questions I can't answer, like, when am I going to make a payment on my mortgage.

KAKISSIS: He is relieved the government has extended a moratorium on foreclosures.

FANI: (Foreign language spoken)

UNIDENTIFIED CHILD: (Foreign language spoken)

KAKISSIS: His mother, who lives next door, often shares her big pots of bean soup or pans of roasted vegetables. And Alexandra's 75-year-old mother, Maria, chips in by bringing meat, olive oil and fresh eggs on her monthly visits from her home in southern Greece. Maria, a jovial woman with a bouffant of curly hair, says she's also helping her son Vassilis, who's an accountant. Most of his clients haven't paid him in two years, she says.

MARIA: (Through Translator) Every month, my husband counts out the pension on the counter. And each time, he says, look, they cut out 20 Euros or 40 Euros. And every month, we have less to work with.

KAKISSIS: On a recent evening, the extended family gathers in Athens for a dinner of orzo pasta, tomato and bread - no meat. Alexandra often makes a feast with whatever produce is in season, fresh and cheap.

ALEXANDRA TSITOURA: (Through Translator) We try not to show the children that we're worried and try to give them what they need.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

KAKISSIS: Their one luxury is attending free traditional dance lessons across town. They just need the gas to get there.

The trouble started for Nikos and Alexandra when Hellenic Shipyards could no longer pay its bills. The company is in a contractual dispute with the debt-ridden Greek government over what the state should pay for the submarines. Economist Manos Matsaganis says the crisis has squeezed many firms in Greece.

MANOS MATSAGANIS: Some of these firms have come to an accommodation with the workers telling them that, look, we don't want to close. We want to survive, and we don't want you to lose your job. But on the other hand, we can't pay you. Would you like to - I mean, we will pay you eventually, hopefully. Would you like to keep working for no money for a while?

KAKISSIS: Back at the shipyard, Nikos and Alexandra stop by to see co-workers guarding the partially finished submarines that cost Greek taxpayers billions of dollars. All but one of the subs now languish in dry dock. A 44-year-old technician named Panagiotis Karantzakis spent years working on them.

PANAGIOTIS KARANTZAKIS: (Through Translator) I want to work so badly. My hands are strong. I'm strong. I have at least 10 years of good work left in me.

KAKISSIS: Nikos comforts him and walks outside to the vast, empty space where he has spent most of his adult life. He considers himself lucky. Some of his co-workers are going to soup kitchens or sitting in dark homes because their electricity has been shut off.

AIVATZIDIS: (Through Translator) Maybe I still have hope. And I'm patient I'll get paid because we're not yet at the point where poverty has totally taken us under.

KAKISSIS: He unlocks the door to his deserted office and walks along a hallway lined with dead plants and a timecard machine that's out of order. He processes the paperwork of the few employees who have quit the shipyard, many to take jobs overseas. For NPR News, I'm Joanna Kakissis in Athens. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.